She looked up just as I passed by, her face brightening.
“Oh my God, it’s been forever,” she said, pulling me into a hug.
I smiled, genuinely happy to see her.
“Brooke, hey. How have you been?”
She insisted on buying me a coffee, and we sat by the window, watching cars roll past in the fading Midwestern light.
She told me about her job at a marketing firm downtown, her recent breakup, her plans to travel to Europe next summer.
I told her about school, my job, and—hesitantly—my recent move.
“Wait, you moved out?” she asked, eyes widening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I hesitated, unsure how much to share.
“It’s complicated,” I said. “My family and I had some issues.”
She leaned in, her expression softening.
“What happened?”
I gave her the short version, leaving out the most painful details but explaining the ultimatum, the free babysitting, the way they treated me.
She listened intently, nodding along.
“That sounds awful,” she said when I finished. “But honestly? Good for you. It takes guts to walk away from something like that.”
Her words were comforting, and for the first time since I had left, I felt like someone actually understood.